The Rose Code
by Aktress
Summary: "If there were two things Meg Giry loved, it was dancing and flowers. To be more specific, ballet and roses." Roses were Meg's passion until chaos erupted. Maybe Meg will be the one to renew Erik's faith in the flower once again. Erik/Meg written in III .
1. Act I

_**The Rose Code**_

* * *

_**Act I**_

* * *

If there were two things Meg Giry loved, it was dancing and flowers. To be more specific, ballet and roses.

One of them was no secret, and was no surprise either. As the daughter of a former Prima Ballerina and an actor, it was certain that she would flourish on the stage. She'd began taking lessons since she was five, and had been en pointe since she was eleven. Nearly all the girls in the ballet corps were sure it was only a matter of time until she would be promoted to title of Prima Ballerina. She was modest about it, of course, but Meg knew she was the best at her art.

However, only two people knew about her love for roses. Her mother, and the Phantom. Meg Giry had roses of all colours, most dried and hanging in her closet behind her various costumes kept from shows. She kept her roses in a jar of water for a few days, then began her process of drying them. Behind the frills and lace was a collage of reds, pinks, whites, yellow, orange, and more. All of them looked in pristine condition, even though each lifeless rose was so delicate.

Her affinity for the flowers had begun when she began her pointe work. It was her first show on pointe, the first time she'd dance with the big girls. Meg was the youngest member in the cast. She was so nervous, and nearly backed out for fear that being the youngest and least trained, she'd ruin the whole show. But her mother urged and encouraged her, promising that she'd do beautifully, and that she'd believe in her. When Meg twirled on stage with the others, it was one of the most terrifying and freeing experiences she'd ever had. She'd been on stage before, of course, but always with the little dancers, and never in such a large performance. Her heart beat wildly, but she smiled the whole dance through and watched the Prima Ballerina, Miss Dawn, an American with a kind smile, but a nasty habit of making you feel lesser than herself. Meg envied Dawn, but was in awe of the beautiful ballet she preformed as herself and the others danced in the background.

After the show, Meg couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She bit her lip as person upon person congratulated her. Of course, she wasn't being praised like Wilhelm and Augustine, the lead roles, or like Dawn, who's ballet solo had been a hit. However, people smiled down to the small, eleven year old blonde. Her hair had been curled for the occasion, and fell in ringlets around her simply glowing face. Pride gleamed from her, and her smile only widened as she spotted her mother approaching. Antoinette's smile was nearly as large as her daughter's, and Meg gasped when she saw what she carried in her arms.

"Flowers!" Meg squealed as she reached out to snatch the bouquet. Her eyes gleamed at all the flowers arranged so beautifully.

"Not just flowers, Meg. Roses," her mother smiled kindly. "You were simply divine out there. You smiled the whole dance."

"Did I, Mama? Was I really wonderful?" Meg asked eagerly, tearing her gaze from the roses.

"Yes, _ma cherie. _You were wonderful." Antoinette was careful to spare the flowers as she reached down to embrace her daughter.

"Are all these roses for me?" Meg asked, half in disbelief as she returned her attention to the fragrant roses. "You bought them all?"

"_Oui, _they're for you. But someone else supplied them," her mother answered. Meg's eyes burned with curiosity.

"Someone else?"

"A... critic, if you will. He approached me before the show and told me to give the roses to you. He knew you would dance divinely, and so you did," her mother replied, giving Meg another hug.

"A critic?" Meg nearly burst, but only squeaked instead. "What kind of critic? A famous one?"

"One that will certainly keep an eye out for you. He'll assure that you keep your place in the ballet corps."

And so he did. It was just a few days later that Meg realized that this critic was none other than the Phantom of the Opera. She assumed he had merely gotten the roses as a gift to both her and her mother, letting them know that he cared for them, and was keeping his end of the partnership that her mother and him shared. Still, those roses had been the best gift Meg had ever received on that night. She'd nearly ran all the way to her room to set them down and more closely inspect them.

The bouquet was a collection of twelve roses, each a different colour, their thorns removed. The roses came in red, dark red, white, dark pink, light pink, yellow, yellow with red tips, orange, peach, coral, lavender, and a single white rosebud. Meg had been delighted at the contrast in colours. However, what intrigued her even more about the flowers was the small card on the inside. She plucked it delicately from the inside of the bouquet, inspecting it carefully, as if it was a butterfly that would fly away at the slightest provocation.

It was an envelope made of sturdy paper, with some dust, perhaps pollen, on it. On the back, it was sealed with red wax, and no emblem. Meg opened the envelope carefully, as though to not rip the wax, and took the note out. On sturdy, white paper, it was written: _Congratulations, Meg Giry._ That was all. Meg turned it over to see if there was anything else, and was surprised to see many printed words.

She took a seat and began reading the back.

_**Roses **__have been treasured for centuries, and are the perfect way to show affection. Find the perfect colour for the right occasion._

_**Red: L**__ove, beauty, courage, passion._

_** Dark Red: **Unwavering love and passion_

_** White: **Purity, innocence, heavenly, youthfulness_

_ **Dark Pink: **Appreciation, gratitude_

_ **Light Pink: **Admiration, sympathy, sweetness, joy_

_ **Yellow: **Friendship, delight, 'Remember me', promise_

_ **Yellow with Red Tips: **Friendship, falling in love_

_ **Orange:** Enthusiasm, desire, fascination_

_** Peach: **Sincerity, gratitude, modesty_

_** Coral: **Desire_

_** Lavender: **Enchantment_

_ **Single: **Utmost devotion_

_ **Two Roses Entwined: **Marry me_

_ **Six: **A need to be loved and cherished_

_ **Eleven: **True and deep love_

_ **One Dozen: **Always thinking of you, job well done_

_** Thirteen: **Secret admirer_

Meg Giry was absolutely thrilled at the card, and couldn't help taking each rose out, one by one to place in a vase, and reading what each of the colours meant. It was the beginning of a hobby that she'd always keep close to herself. She thanked the Phantom deeply in her heart for getting her the roses, even if they were only meant as a reminder that he was thankful toward her mother. Meg had never directly seen the Phantom, but from that moment on, felt a certain kinship towards him. She believed they shared a love for roses, and assumed that he memorized what each colour meant like she did. She took utmost care in selecting what colour of rose to give to who for what occasion, and deciphered what each rose she received meant.

Over time, Meg and the Phantom never once met, or spoke together, but became pen pals of a sort. It began when Meg wrote a thoughtful 'thank you' note that her mother would deliver to the Phantom. After a bit of hesitation, Meg decided to include a single, dark pink rose to share her gratitude. To Meg surprise, scarcely a week later, her mother handed her a letter and a white rose back. Soon, it was a tradition between the two. They spoke of common opera gossip, jokes, small secrets, and other such things. But most importantly, they sent roses. The letters themselves might've easily died out, but with the roses, the exchanged words always thrived, and time could always be found to write out a note. Her mother had been wary of letting Meg write notes back and forth to him, but eased over time (due mostly to the fact that Meg never saw the Phantom. It was puzzling to Meg that her mother seemed so careful to not have them meet. Meg knew that he was deformed, and was different than other men, but her mother strictly forbade their meeting.), and was eventually happy to deliver them.

Mostly, yellow roses were exchanged, though orange, pink, and white made appearances from time to time. Even once, Meg received a lavender one. The Phantom (who it turned out had a name, Erik) wrote once telling her that he was having trouble deciding on a specific colour for her. When she asked why he was troubled, he responded by sending a white one. '_I think I've decided on white. I've seen you preform, and you simply shine of youthfulness and have a certain heavenly glow. I was considering pink, to go with your ballet slippers, but I think that white is certainly the better definition.' _he had written. Meg wrote back, deciding that her own colour for him was lavender, because of how she was simply enchanted by him. She could picture him laughing as he wrote, '_Enchanted? Enchanted by a man you've never met? Come, now, Miss Giry. Surely your mother would frown upon both of us if she caught word of that.'_

Truth be told, the fact that she'd never met him was the reason she was so enchanted. There was so much mystery, so much she didn't know, and by that she was simply mystified. Although Meg Giry didn't consciously know it, she became more and more protective of the curious man. Any time she heard gossip around the theatre about the Phantom, she'd frown and defend him without a second thought. She was almost quite sure that maybe she had fallen in love with the man who hid behind the roses and was why roses were always something very personal.

So when Christine Daae began receiving the single, dark red rose, Meg wasn't quite pleased. Christine was known as the Phantom's Girl or The Rose Girl among the gossiping ballet corps and whispering chorus girls, and Meg couldn't quite share in their giggling. She was almost angry at Christine, for the first time in her life. Meg Giry hadn't been mad at Christine from the first time she walked into her life, back when Meg was twelve and Christine ten. They'd bonded like sisters, and always told each other everything. Well, nearly everything. Meg never shared her affinity for roses, and Christine never shared that she was being coached to improve her voice. That was when everything began to go wrong.

Christine was becoming an obsession of the Phantom's, it was obvious to anyone, but especially to Meg. She read it in the language of the roses. A single, deep red rose with a black ribbon tied around it is what she received whenever he was pleased with her. Meg knew what a red rose meant; Unfaltering passion. Meg had never received even a regular red rose, and she knew the deepest reds were reserved for the deepest desires. It was always a single rose, meaning he had the utmost devotion to her. But... maybe it was through her jealousy, but something disturbed Meg about the roses that any other untrained girl might not have noticed. The thorns hadn't been removed.

Of course, Christine didn't take notice. Why would she when she was so delighted to have an admirer who left her his token of gratitude? No, Meg's worries were kept to herself. There was nothing saying that it was good or bad to keep the thorns, but Meg couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The roses she'd always received were thorn-less, and she always carefully removed the thorns from the roses she sent Erik. Meg thought it was some kind of sign, but she couldn't tell what it was.

The letters and roses from Erik had ceased two months before Christine's roses began to appear. Meg had tried more than given her mother a rose and a letter to pass on to the Opera's ghost, but he never sent anything in return. Meg had begun to worry, and had once even tried to find her way down to the opera's cellars to meet the man face-to-face. However, that had ended somewhat abruptly, what with Antoinette somehow locating her and nearly dragging her back, saying that Erik no longer wish to communicate.

Of course, her little heart that thought she was in love with a man she never met was broken. He was completely infatuated with Christine, and there was nothing she could do to help it.

Christine improved, and soared to new heights, with the help of Erik. Of course, promises were broken, threats were made, and the Phantom's wishes weren't obeyed, resulting in only terror, and even death. After the deaths, she had convinced myself that this must not be the same man who had shared her affinity for roses, and whom she'd been pen pals with for nearly seven years of her life without ever really meeting. Even before the infatuation, he was changing. His plain red wax seal was replaced by a red skull, and when Meg had questioned it, he merely brushed the topic aside, telling how it was in ways charming to him. No, this was some new, mad creature. So Meg vowed that never again would she affiliate with the opera ghost, and for some time, she even gave up roses.

The first time Meg ever truly saw the Phantom of the opera in flesh and bone was at the New Year's Eve Masquerade ball. She was having a grand time, talking with her friends, her mother, and having man upon man ask her for a dance. She wore a burgundy sort of suit, with white ruffles on her sleeves and neck, where an adorable bow tie hung. She wore a small top hat, decorated with more frills and lace, and burgundy ribbon. She'd even considered adding a burgundy rose to match the coat and ribbons, but had eventually declined that idea.

She was having a very merry time when someone dressed as death itself entered in a dramatic puff of smoke. She stopped her spinning with a man dressed as an exotic bird, and turned to see who demanded all the attention. She knew in a heartbeat it was the feared Phantom, and listened to his voice sing out his demands. She'd heard his voice before, but this was the first time she'd seen him. Granted, he was costumed, and was wearing a skull's mask so she couldn't see his face, but it was still the first time.

He'd given them his opera, demanded that they perform it to his liking, and that Christine was to play the lead, of course. Their eyes locked, and something seemed to bond between them, until he ripped something, a necklace, from her neck, and disappeared as dramatically as he had entered. Christine's beloved, Viscount Raoul de Changey tried to follow him, but it was in vain.

The next few days were all talk, mostly yelling. The whole opera was in an uproar, torn between whether they should perform it or not. Eventually, it was decided that another tragedy like that of the hanging of Joseph Buquet would be executed if they didn't obey the Phantom's wishes, and the opera began it's rehearsing.

They hadn't any need for auditions, a full cast list was included with the score. Meg was a bit surprised to see herself cast as the Prima Ballerina, who played a bit of a role. Perhaps her pen-pal, Erik, was still there, somewhere under all this madness. During Act I, she was merely another dancer, with a solo part here and there. Meg was absent during the last half of the first, and the first half of the second, but during the last half of Act II, she played the role of a young pageboy, Marques, who falls hopelessly in love with the lead character's (who was to be played by Christine) cousin. Meg's character's ending wasn't happy, but she found the twist at the end of the script to be rather comical for her. She even got to sing! A small solo in Act III! Meg was actually rather excited to play her role in the three-act masterpiece.

However, she was never to play the role of the lovesick pageboy. During the last half of the first act, the unthinkable happened. The Phantom himself took to the stage, and Christine ripped his precious mask off. That was the first time Meg truly saw the Phantom. She looked at his face, and screamed. It was hardly a face! Furious, the Phantom had cut the cord to the magnificent chandelier and set the whole opera ablaze. It was almost too much for Meg to handle, and she vaguely remembered running around, lost in a sea of panicking aristocrats. No one noticed the girl dressed in a boy's costume, trying to fight the crowds and find her mother.

It was with some panic that she got caught in the angry mob. She hadn't originally intended to go down to the lair with the bloodthirsty men, mad with the thought of revenge. Even those who cared nothing for the crimes committed, and more for the drama and the raiding, roared and pushed forward, creating a blockade that poor Meg couldn't pass. She was swept up in the crowd, and found herself wading through water into the dreaded lair of the Phantom. She could've sworn she saw a curly head that belonged to Christine, or the distinct honey blonde hair of her lover, but a double take made her realize she hadn't found them.

Eventually, they made their way to the cavern, and Meg couldn't help but marvel at the home she'd heard so much about. She recognized things that he'd wrote about, and mentally began sketching a map of the lair. All the treasures, the trinkets that were scattered about all over the place were enough for the more greedy people to be satisfied, and they began grabbing at everything. However, Meg climbed a few steps, more interested in finding the man than finding his possessions.

His mask was what caught her eye, and she paused to gingerly pick it up, thinking about the man who might've been wearing it just minutes before. Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she watched as a curtain fluttered ever so gently. The men weren't up here, and there was no wind, so Meg supposed she had found the wanted criminal, gathering the mask up, she strode over to the slightly waving curtain. She slowly lifted the red velvet, and looked around to make sure the men below were too distracted to pay attention to her. When she was sure, she stepped behind the curtain and began her trek through the secret tunnel. She knew she was mad, but she was burning with curiosity, and had to know the fate of her pen pal.

Minutes later, she stepped on something, and immediately froze up, scared to see what she stepped on. Luckily, in her blindness, she hadn't stepped on anything alive, or dead, for that matter. When she took her foot from the object and reached down to pick it up, she distinctly felt the soft petals of a rose, with the thorns still attached. Meg frowned, although no one could see her. Had Christine gone this way, or had Erik flung the rose away in sorrow for losing her? She didn't know, but she couldn't keep wandering the tunnel aimlessly. So somewhat reluctantly, she let the rose fall back to the ground, and turned around, making her way back into the light of the opera.

* * *

**Happy May 11th! If you haven't heard, I have hereby dubbed May 11th International Erik/Meg day. We needed a day, and no one had one yet. So I thought, "What the hey?" and decided to make it. I REALLY hope that by next year, we'll be able to actually make it a thing where we all submit one shots, stories, or III Acts like this. :) I just thought it was a neat idea and I hope you'll take part next year! :D**

**Best Wishes,**

**Aktress.**


	2. Act II

_Act II_

* * *

It was a week later, long after the fire had died down and the damage had been calculated, that Meg saw the Phantom face to face for the first time. It was to everyone's advantage that only a few things had been burnt beyond repair. For the most part, although it was an awful mess, the Opera Garnier was still massively beautiful, and would soon rise back to it's former glory. Trying to reshow Don Juan Triumphant was clearly out of the question, so the managers acted as though nothing had happened. Meg was both confused and in awe at how the managers seemed to act as though they had not lost their leading tenor by noose, but they had also lost their two lead sopranos without a chance of either ever returning. One week later, auditions were being held for _Les Troyens, _and the outcome of people who showed up was quite worrisome.

If they had cast everyone who showed up, they'd be fine. However, the fire and the Phantom who caused it had scared most of the people with talent away. The current Prima Donna _and _Prima Ballerina were long gone, and the only people who could act as suitable replacements so far could not compare to anyone they'd had in the past. There were three girls who Meg thought has quite lovely voices, and knew they would be cast. Only one man had a voice she might like, however. And the dancers were awful. Meg saw her mother's tight lips bunched up, obviously quite unimpressed at the girls who had stayed, and the new girls who wished to fill the vacancies. Meg bit her own lip, watching as the girls stumbled with their dances. The managers looked even worse, and much more green in the face.

When Meg stepped onto stage, she danced without the slightest effort, and unabashedly knew she had been the best of the day. She even cracked a small smile as she landed a hop with utter grace. She'd earn the spot as a Prima Ballerina, with or without the help of the Phantom.

Meg knew she was going to be cast as the Prima Ballerina, but she wasn't celebrating. She was worried. Meg knew her mother was in a panic about the new crop of singers and dancers, and was walking up and down her room, pacing in a very flustered manner. She hadn't the faintest idea what to do about all these untalented dancers. They weren't awful, but they certainly weren't Opera Garnier material. She couldn't teach all these girls to dance as gracefully as her own daughter in a month, and even that would be too long to begin rehearsal for _Les Troyens. _Not to mention the singers. They too weren't quite Garnier material, and the old vocal coach has been lost with a large handful of other fearful people. They were lucky enough to keep their head costumer, obviously their ballet instructor and new Prima Ballerina, and their conductor. Much of the staff and cast were going to have to be replaced. And with the opera's new infamous reputation, it wasn't going to be too easy.

So Meg did something she hadn't done in months, maybe by now a year. She wrote a letter to the Phantom. It went on, beginning with:

"_Monsieur Erik, if I may still call you that, I'm sorry to say that we haven't spoke in quite a while, though I know you've been especially busy. However, I have something that I must beg of you..."_

Meg wrote of how the people who showed at auditions scarcely had enough talent, how hard it would be to train all of them, and complained of how many of the cast members had resigned, or simply disappeared. She begged of him that if he had half a mind to, to find people for them, or make suggestions as to who they should seek out.

_"...and if I may request,"_ Meg finished her letter off. "_I'd be ever so obliged if you wouldn't hand off the letter to my mother, as we used to. She doesn't know I'm writing and delivering this, for she'd never approve. If you do not wish to write and deliver another letter to me, then so be it. As long as you would send people or let us know who to find, I will be content. _

_ "I truly am sorry for what has happened, but we can't change the past. We must continue on into the future, and try to make it so bright, it might outshine what has been done before. Let it be known that I still respect you, Erik. Maybe not the Phantom or his choices, but as the man I once knew, I know that you've always done what you thought was the right thing to do._

_ "I'm sorry to be wasting your time, but please take what I've written into consideration._

"_Yours, Meg Giry."_

Meg sealed the envelope with the letter inside, and tied the yellow rose she'd bought to the envelope with a pink ribbon. She hoped that he wouldn't just discard the letter into the lake before he had the chance to read it. However, she had to take the risk, and if nothing happened within another week, she'd deliver another letter.

And so she sneaked away in the night-time, when her mother was off in a troubled sleep, to deliver her letter. Wearing a cotton, modest nightgown, she slipped on her shoes and quietly began her way down the hall.

She was aware that tunnels to his underground home existed, as she had been dragged down with the crowd one week ago. She knew there was a way from Christine's former dressing room, but was afraid she might not be able to find her way down. Instead, she found the place backstage where the mob had begun, and retraced her steps the best she could. She hurried through passages, down staircases, and at forks in the road, attempted to choose the correct one. With nothing but a small candle as light, Meg's heart began to pound the deeper she went into the caves. Ideas and worries occupied her mind, and she bit her lip as she chose another path from a fork in the road. What if this was just a wild goose chase? Maybe he was already dead. She hadn't seen or heard from him in the past, hectic week. The more she thought, the more dreadful she felt.

Eventually, she reached another stone staircase. By the soft, glimmering light, Meg could tell that the lake was down here. Her heart fluttered with nervousness and excitement. Trembling with both, she skittered down the staircase and stepped onto a small dock. It was made of concrete, and a small pole with a rope was directly to her left. That's where the boat was, she knew. She caught a glimpse of it before, but now it was gone. She wondered if it's moving meant he was still alive.

"M...Monsieur?" Meg squeaked. She cleared her throat, then spoke a bit louder. "Monsieur? Please, are you here, Monsieur?"

In fact, he was there. Erik could clearly see Meg from where he was, but knew he was invisible to her. He'd seen Meg many times, but rarely this close. Her hair was mussed up, most likely from lying in bed, and she wore a pink, cotton nightdress. In her hands, she held a candle, and something like paper in the other. One week later, and Erik had finally decided to roam the Opera house one last time before he banished himself to the caverns and starved himself to death. He was almost giddy with anticipation of death. For so long, he'd longed for death, and now he'd finally meet it face to face. Leave it to Meg Giry to ruin his last night out.

Still as stone, he stood in the gently rocking boat and stared at the slightly distressed figure on the dock. He'd decided to not reveal himself. He didn't want to speak to her, not after everything. Once, he'd been friends with her, but that was without them meeting. If she met him, she'd be scared off, like everyone else. Erik thought maybe some people in the world showed mercy, weren't scared away by disastrous appearances, but was he ever wrong. It was Christine that broke whatever of a heart he had, and he was sure he'd never open it again. Why did this Meg not move? She called 'Monsieur' and 'Monsieur Phantom' multiple times, and for ten minutes, Erik just watched. Meg eventually sat down, quietly and slowly. She set the candle down on the concrete and took a seat, curling up into a little ball. _Why? _He thought. _This is wasting whatever time I have left._

Erik was considering turning the boat around as quietly as possible, but in the softest voice, he heard Meg call out. "Erik... poor Erik. Surely he must've died from a broken heart."

Erik... no one had used his real name in ages. Not even Meg's mother. Antoinette had taken the custom to calling him the Phantom, like the rest of the world. He'd never told Christine, of course. He never got the chance, or he was too frightened, he couldn't quite remember. But hearing the girl on the shore mutter his name, her voice flowing with pity and compassion, made something stir in the place where Erik might've once had a heart.

After a moment, he took the pole he'd been holding and dug it into the water and the ground beneath it, pushing the boat forward. The boat parting the water in front of it made a smooth sound, and small waves formed, eventually coming to lap up onto the dock. Meg, who suddenly noticed the movement in the water, looked up straight into the face of Erik. He stood, not twenty feet away, in his gondola, making his way slowly over to Meg.

Her heart leaped and got caught in her throat all at the same time. It was the closest she'd ever been to the Phantom, to Erik, and it was absolutely thrilling. No amount of time could have prepared her for it, and she sat there, shocked into silence. Erik glided over to the dock, and stopped his boat as it lightly hit the dock.

For a moment, both were silent. Then, Erik spoke. "Meg Giry?" Meg had no words, but could only nod. Her first impression of him was everything and nothing like she thought it might be. His voice was melodic like she'd heard him sing, but had some sort of dullness, a lack of emotions, possibly. She supposed this week must've been quite numbing. She couldn't help but notice that his whole face was uncovered, and that her eyes wanted both to look at and look away from the hideous side. She tried her best not to look like she was staring.

He nodded back, looking at the candle and paper in her hand. "Well? I believe you asked for me?"

"Y-yes," Meg tested her words out. "Yes. I... I wanted to give you this." Meg found that she could move her limbs, and shakily stood and walked over to the edge of the dock to hand him the note. Erik stared at her outstretched arm, the note it held, and most definitively the rose that was tied to it. Ah, roses. His old friend and betrayer.

"I thought we'd finished being pen pals, Meg," he said with a bit of a snap that was only partially meant. It was cold, even for a mid-winter night, and Erik could see her shivering. But through the chill and the darkness, he saw her blush. Yet, she kept her arm outstretched.

"I... I don't mind if you wish to stop writing me letters, as you haven't for at least a year. But... just read this. The opera needs help. _Your _opera needs help. If not for me and my mother, at least read it for your opera," Meg said, her teeth chattering ever so slightly.

After another moment, Erik reached his own hand out, grabbing the letter from the girl's own hand. His gloved hand was warm as it lightly touched hers. However, Meg noticed he failed to take the rose. "Mon...Monsieur, your rose?"

Erik looked at the rose. Yellow... friendship. It almost hurt him to see the girl with such an expression. He could clearly see that she was disappointed. "Thank you, but although roses have been a sweet obsession, I've grown quite sick by the sight of them." Meg realized at that moment that roses probably did not remind him of their pen pal days, but of Christine. She bit her lip at her mistake, and quickly brought her hand with the rose down and behind her back, bashfully.

"Oh... I-I see. I'm sorry, Monsieur," Meg said softly. Of all the times she'd imagined encountering Erik face to face, she never thought it would be like this.

"I'm sure it's past your curfew, and if your mother finds you gone, she'll assume the worst," Erik said, tucking the letter in the pocket of his vest.

"Y-yes, I suppose so," Meg stammered. "Thank you... for accepting my letter."

"I had little choice," Erik said back without emotion. It concerned Meg. Maybe he always spoke like that, but his letters had always been so lively... No matter, it wasn't any wonder that he was only a shell of a man, after everything that had happened in the past year.

"Then I bid you goodnight, Mademoiselle," Erik said, giving her a small bow, and turning the boat around with the pole. Erik had finally decided that his final rounds might wait until he read the letter. Meg had said it was something about the opera... _his_ opera. Even if he was going to die soon, he couldn't help but fear his opera going to ruins. Maybe he could do one final deed for the opera before disappearing for good.

Meg watched Erik sail off, like some solitary gondolier. With some sort of sadness she couldn't believe, she held her hands together, twirling the rose in her hands. _I've grown_ _quite sick by the sight of them. _His words played on repeat in her mind, torturing her thoughts. Why did those words hurt so much?

But Meg knew. It was because roses made him think of Christine. Christine didn't care for roses as the two of them had. Everyone knows what a red rose means, but they don't cherish the true meaning or symbolism in a rose. Christine had loved how beautiful her crimson roses were, but if Meg ever received a red rose, she'd cherish it beyond it's colour and form. When someone gave a rose, they gave their heart to be seen. That was something Christine hadn't understood, and it made Meg's blood boil suddenly.

It wasn't just the roses Christine had taken from Meg, it was Erik. Erik had been her pen pal, her imaginary friend that she could write to. They shared stories, thoughts, jokes, _everything, _without once meeting. She even thought she might have been in love with the tortured soul who complained sometimes of his views on the world or of humanity. Such a fascinating person, and the person he'd fallen in love with took his heart and shattered it before a crowd of hundreds. The more Meg thought, the more she realized how much she'd missing talking with Erik. It had been a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, and now his light was extinguished.

She looked at the rose in her hands. It looked more wilted than before, and it's bright yellow petals seemed an ugly, dull shade. The hatred that had boiled up inside her made the rose before her look boring, and hateful. One by one, she began to pluck the petals, dropping them in the water before her. They floated on the surface, gently dancing around and drifting away. Yellow... the rose of friendship. Ironic that a yellow rose might help her realize that her friend was an enemy, even if she didn't mean it.

With a sigh, Meg turned to reach for her candle and began her venture back to the sleeping world above.

The man polling his boat back was deep in thought as he passed through the dark mists over the lake. What a foolish girl Meg Giry was, coming all the way down to simply deliver a letter. Her mother never would've approved. He felt the letter in his pocket, wondering what it's exact contents were. He knew that the opera house was a catastrophe, but it was of little matter to her. Why should he care if it fell after he died? But something inside reminded him that he still had a partnership with Antoinette Giry, and that any request of her daughter's should at least be considered.

Meg had been as close to a friend as he had. What relationship he had with Antoinette was simply cold business and what little fondness came with it. At least Meg was considerate enough to come down herself to deliver a plea. He felt a little guilty in not accepting the rose, but the thought of roses still pained him in the slightest. They reminded him of a lost love. A love that never had the hint of a chance. He should've known it was going to happen. The feared opera ghost was stripped down to a poor, deformed man in a matter of seconds before a crowd of hundreds.

Erik grit his teeth, polling onwards. Christine had never loved him. Her thoughts of him were simply was simply the platonic relationship of a student and teacher. The kiss she'd given him to save Raoul's life was full of emotion, but the wrong emotion. It had been passion that had driven her, but not passion for him. Passion for that horrible, _talentless _de Changy.

He looked downwards, furious at the thoughts he'd unleashed. He had to keep his mind from Christine or her lover. Luckily, he made it to the shore, and his mind was changed for him. He stepped out of the boat, pulling it up to shore. Erik went to secure his boat before retiring to his small sitting room to read the 'important' message Meg had come to deliver. While he tied the rope to a post, his eyes suddenly caught a flash of dull yellow in the water. One, then two, then three yellow shapes floated over to Erik, and he suddenly realized it was the petals of the rose. Meg had destroyed his rose after he didn't want it. He wasn't sure what to make of the display.

Roses... oh, roses. Such meaning, such passion, such beauty that he longed for. So many pleasurable and painful memories were linked with roses. Once upon a time, a rose was something that he cherished, and a hobby of sorts that he shared with the girl who lay motionless in the other room. But now, they only reminded him of his fruitless attempt with Christine. He wanted to hate roses, but there was something about them that made it impossible to hate.

Wasn't it Meg in the first place who shared his love for roses? It was almost painful when he realized that the girl whom he'd conversed with through paper and ink for years should remind him of roses, but Christine had come and taken the thought of roses from her. _Perhaps... _Erik thought. _I'll figure out my roses later._ And with that, he took his leave of the shore and went to go read the note Meg had delivered.

* * *

Meg was walking down the corridor the next morning, returning from a visit to the stage to check on how training was going. Her mother was trying her absolute best to try and teach these primitive girls, but looked like she would rather die a slow, painful death. As if they weren't killing her already. Meg rubbed her temple, trying to figure out what to do about them. Maybe she could working with her mother as a teacher. She certainly knew enough, but she was also younger some of them. Would they take her seriously?

She entered her room, pulling the drapes back to let light in, and was surprised to see a letter sitting on her bed. More than the letter, though, were the yellow petals that were placed on top of the envelope. Her eyes widened, heart beating slightly quicker. It was obvious Erik had left the note, but it had caught her surprise he had responded so quickly. And that he had placed the rose petals she'd picked off onto the letter. What did that mean?

Meg hurried over to the bed, picking up the envelope and hurrying to rip it open. She pulled the letter out, darting her eyes across the page. It read:

_Meg Giry,_

_ I've sent word to a man who owes me a favour. Expect to see qualified dancers within two weeks._

_-Erik_

_ PS, you left something in the water. I've placed them on the letter for you._

Meg sat for half a second, turning the paper around and rereading its contents, then looking down at the petals. He'd cared enough to deliver the message, and place the pieces of the rose back. He didn't have to ever say anything to her again, but he'd responded in a heartbeat. Meg smiled genuinely, collecting the rose petals and placing them gently on her dresser. If she could take his word, then it was only a matter of time. All they had to do is wait.

* * *

**_So, I'm awful at updating, since it's been nearly four months since I posted Act I. *cringes* The good news is that the fluff is sure to come in the next chapter, whenever I get it up (hopefully sooner rather than later!) Thanks for sticking through with this anyways, guys. :)_**

**_Cheers! ~Aktress_**


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